


There's nothing Sadder than a Con man conning himself

by nkurth31



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, White Collar, more les mis than white collar just fyi
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-03-24 15:28:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13814058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nkurth31/pseuds/nkurth31
Summary: When Neal and Peter show up in Paris tracing an art forger a secret R put to bed years ago rears its head and could ruin everything he built.





	1. Off to Paris

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adorablecrab](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adorablecrab/gifts).



Neal sat at the highly polished table in the FBI team briefing meeting room playing with his phone while Peter talked about a new art forger on Interpol’s watch list. “If I may be so bold” he interrupts drawing all eyes to him “what does the FBI have to do with an art forger in Europe?” Peter rolls his eyes

“If you had let me finish Neal these forgeries have been showing up in New York, so they're looking to trace them back to creator in Europe.” He then pulls up a picture of a nearly flawless Raphael “Now does this look familiar?” he looks to Neal

“I couldn’t tell you without actually seeing it but if this person is based in Paris I’ve got someone I could talk to, but……” He trails off looking at Peter

“Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this” he says with a huff

“Well we don’t exactly have each other’s phone numbers so it would require a little field trip?” Peter looks at him with an incredulous expression 

“You want to go to Paris to find a criminal friend of yours?”

“Technically he’s an alleged criminal”

****  
A few days later a fat file lands on his desk and he looks up to find peter looking down at him “we just got clearance from Interpol and the director, pack up your suits we’re going to Paris”  
****

It’s a normal meeting of Les Amis de l’ABC which means Enjolras was shouting, Ferre was trying to take notes, Jehan was folding paper flowers, and Grantaire was drinking. This all changed when two men in suits walked in the front door of the café and walked over to the group. In halting French the older of the two breaks the silence that has fallen “Hello my name is Peter Burke I work for the FBI and I’m looking for someone” Ferre turns his head sharply to send a disapproving stare towards Enjolras who is quick to rebuff in French

“I swear I haven’t done anything that would get me in trouble with the FBI!”

“Well they're here so who else could they be looking for!?” Ferre hisses back. Enjolras puts his hands up in a gesture of surrender to his lieutenant 

“I don’t know but I haven’t even disturbed the peace in weeks!” It’s then that Neal cuts in and with smooth and practiced French says

“No one has broken any laws we’re simply looking for someone who may know something about a forgery case we are working on.” This causes another flurry of whispering and the name Montparnasse is passed around and Jehan is suddenly very interested in their paper orchids while simultaneously glaring distrustfully at the two men. Courf addresses the agents

“We all speak English here if you are more comfortable speaking with us that way. I’m not sure why you would come here looking for a criminal we are just a group of college students.” His smile is charming but his eyes twinkle with mischief. Peter continues to try to get straight answers from the group when he realizes that Neal has been suspiciously quiet and when he turns his CI is gone.   
***  
“So you work for the FBI now?” Grantaire asks conversationally as Neal joins him on the roof of the café

“More like they borrowed me from prison” he laughs turning down the cigarette Grantaire offers him

“The great Neal Caffery got caught? Oh how times have changed” Grantaire sighs dramatically taking a drag from his cigarette and studies Neal with a critical eye. “You know I’m out of the game now right? So I’m not the one you’re looking for”

“I knew you weren’t I just came here to ask you if you had any idea of who it was.”

“I’d need to know more about them first. I’ve still got my contacts but if I just go asking for art forgers the list I’ll get is longer than your list of aliases.”

“You’re one to talk” Neal laughs “pretty sure at least three of your former aliases are on Interpol’s art crimes list. Which leads to my second question what should I be calling you?”

“I go by Grantaire here but most of them call me R anyway.”

“They have no idea who you are do they?” Neal asked eyebrows raised

“To them I’m just an art school dropout who paints commissions to pay the rent and baristas to pay for my wine.” He replies with a smug grin “and if I’m feeling so inclined I may even help plan a social revolution”


	2. I'm calling Montparnasse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a shot addition

R and Neal walk back into the café together gaining a raised eyebrow from Peter “I think I’ve got all I need to know” Neal says flipping his fedora sending a wink towards Eponine and walks out the door followed by Peter who looks bewildered. All eyes then shift to R following him curiously as he returns to his seat.

“Mind telling us what that was about?” Enjolras asks his eyebrows almost disappearing into the mop of golden curls as his eyes burn with unspoken accusations

“What are you talking about?” R asks grabbing his forgotten glass of wine off the table and topping it off with a bottle stolen from Joly’s hand. Enjolras arches an eyebrow with an obvious you’re full of shit look and continues to stare at him. “I went out for a smoke and he came out to ask me if I knew about any illegal art trading, apparently I look shifty and artsy” the group slowly starts talking again and the meeting breaks off into small pockets of chatter. Ferre moves over to sit beside Enjolras

“Do you really believe him?” he says his eyes moving over to where R is drawing daisies up Jehan’s arm with the charcoal pencil from his sketch book

“No, but I can’t figure out why they would want to talk to him” He says running a hand through his curls “do you think it has to do with Patron Minette?” his eyes look slightly panicked. Ferre shakes his head

“If it had to do with them it would have made more sense to talk to Eponine or maybe if they knew enough about connections Jehan. Maybe he wanted to talk to R because of the art angle?”

“He does seem to know a lot of people” Enjolras quickly ends his train of thought as R saunters over to their table 

“Apollo my beautiful sun god” he purrs sitting cross legged on the table and propping his chin on his hands and staring at Enjolras. “Don’t worry Ferrelicious I didn’t forget you” he leans forward and plants a kiss on his forehead laughing as Ferre makes a face and swats at him. “What are we talking about over here oh so suspiciously?” he wiggles his eyebrows and smirks

“We were talking about how we might have to change some things now that the FBI is hanging around” Ferre says

“Oh no my silly Combelicious the FBI doesn’t care about us they're looking for this art forger guy that is selling shit in New York or whatever.” R says reaching towards the bag of chips Courf left on the table 

“How do you know about where they’re being sold?” Enjolras says his eyes narrowing. R looks up with startled eyes realizing what he just said

“well you see when I was out smoking Neal said something about being from New York so you know being the mastermind that I am I put two and two together.” He is trying very hard to keep his face calm as both Ferre and Enjolras sit staring at him. Just then Eponine walks over and grabs R by the arm

“I need to talk to you” she shoots Ferre and Enjolras a smile that says try to stop me. “What the hell was that?! The FBI is here asking about art forgeries, I thought you got out of the game?” she hisses pushing him so his back hits the wall of the hallway by the bathrooms “do I need to call Montparnasse? He can probably get those two taken care of if you want.”

“Did you just suggest putting a hit out on two FBI agents? That’s a tad bit of an overreaction don’t you think?” he says trying to wiggle away from the arm she has pushing him against the wall. He feels like a mouse with a cat holding his tail. “And I am out of the game, I told you once I fenced that Degas I would be done.” She gave him a withering yet extremely unimpressed expression. 

“I’m still telling Parnasse about this” she says already digging out the burner phone she keeps in her purse to call Parnasse.


	3. Just a painting for a little bird

R is sitting on his fire escape staring out at the lights of Paris when he hears the slow metallic click of a lock being picked floating through the window of his dark apartment. He quickly hides in the shadows and waits as the door slowly opens and a figure dressed in black enters, as they draw closer he takes a measured breath and allows them to walk past him before he reaches out grabbing their coat and slamming them into the wall his knife resting against the exposed curve of their throat. The intruder chuckles “R it’s good to see you haven’t let yourself relax in your retirement.”

“No, someone once told me that feeling safe was the easiest mistake to make.”

“Is that why you've still got that damn hunting knife against my jugular” he says trying to move his head

“I know how you make your money Claquesous and with all these whispers of FBI and Interpol it wouldn’t surprise me if you’re making a quick buck feeding them information.” R lessens the pressure holding Claquesous against the wall but leaves the blade of his knife against his neck “also you just broke into my apartment how much trust should I have in you?”

“Montparnasse sent me” he says finally pushing R’s knife away, fixing his mask and pulling his hood back into place like a ruffled raven fixing its feathers

“Oh that makes me feel so much better” R scoffs. Even with the mask on R can see Claquesous roll his eyes

“You’re too valuable for him to kill, plus his little bird seems to have a fondness for you and your paintings. He wants to meet.”

“When?” R walks back towards his front door keeping a well trained eye on Claquesous

“Tomorrow night at 11”

“Where?” he asks as the other man is already opening his front door

“His cemetery where else?” the words hang in the air as the door clicks shut and R makes sure to engage the deadbolt this time before walking off towards his bedroom. He opens his closet and pulls up the false floor boards and opens the steal box under them. Inside there’s a quick getaway backpack with a passport and identification card for Devonte Adams, a few changes of clothes, two burner phones and 100,000 in non-sequential bills. Under that, another bag of fake passports and IDs and a rubber banded stack of 100s. Resting on the bottom is a wooden box; a gift from Montparnasse, the gun is matte black and feels cold in his hands. He has never been a fan of guns but when the king of the Paris underground arms you, you learn not to question it. 

***

The next day R paces around his apartment trying to be productive but all seems to be able to do is start a task and abandon it a few moments later. He has a pile of half-sorted laundry in his living room, folded laundry on his bed that has not made it into his drawers, stacks of clean dishes on the counter and a sink full of soap and dirty dishes. Even sketching has not calmed his nerves the jerky lines and sloppy shading frustrating him. A few hours before his scheduled meeting with Montparnasse, he finds himself standing before his closet wondering if wearing all black would make him look more or less suspicious. He decides that he should wear a blinding and obnoxious shirt and ill-fitting pants if only to annoy Montparnasse. 

The walk to Montparnasse Cemetery is still familiar to R from his time lending his services to the infamous Paris street gang. He walks past the main gate smiling at the guard sitting in the small booth covered in ivy and finds the gap between towering hedges and the beginning of an imposing stone and iron wall. Slipping in this well-worn aperture does nothing to quell his growing anxiety. Claquesous may have said that Montparnasse finds him too useful to kill but the man was also ruthless if he thought his business or true associates were in danger due to someone’s existence. The row of mausoleums that Montparnasse favored was lined with elm trees their umbrella like leaves blocking any stray light. Great stone structures discolored from seasons of rain and snow, intricate iron doors protecting delicate wooden and glass entrances to dark voids beyond. The only obvious sign of human intrusion in this macabre suburbia is the faint whiff of cigarette smoke that floats on the thick night air. R lifts his callous hands up to his mouth and makes his signature owl call. 

“There’s no need for a signal when I could see you a mile away in that monstrosity of an outfit.” Montparnasse’s voice floats and swirls in the dark like the smoke from the cigarette held in his pale slender fingers. The infamous master thief looks at R with the cold beauty of a marble statue. “Always good to see you Dionysus” R rolls his eyes at the old code name.

“Says the man wearing a tailored suit in a cemetery” he might not know fully where he stands with Montparnasse, but R cannot resist poking fun at him. “Isn’t black on black a fashion faux pas?” The risk is worth seeing Montparnasse’s insulted expression.

“Black is the most functional color for someone in my line of work, it hides the blood better than any other color. Plus, it makes the wearer both fashionable and intimidating, what more could one ask for?” he explains as if he were giving an interview for vogue.

“A man in your line of work, and what would that be, a mortician perhaps?” Montparnasse sends him a withering glare before giving his jacket a quick pull.

“I have information on the forger if you’re done being childish” His voice for once does not hold quite as much dark charm. “I didn’t get a name but from what I hear he has ties to Patrick Murillo” he watches R and sighs dramatically when it’s obvious he doesn’t know who the mentioned man is “he finances drug cartels in South America”

“And you draw your criminal ethics line at drug cartels?” R asks genuinely curious about what one has to do criminally to make Montparnasse make that face.

“I draw the line at the exploitation of impoverished populations for profit” 

“You sound like Jehan” R can feel a smirk pulling at his lips

“Shut up.” He snaps “Now about payment for this information” Montparnasse’s charm is back at full force and R mentally chastises himself for not realizing that he would never just give information without a price. “It’s nothing big” his smile is pointed now “Just a little painting”

“Which little painting? You know I don’t do that anymore, I don’t have the supplies” He has paint and canvas but nothing that would hold up to a professional appraisal.

“Le Jardin de l'artiste à Giverny, don’t worry I’ll send Babet over with supplies. Shouldn’t take you more than a week right?”

“You want me to forge a Monet, in a week?” R asks incredulously

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think you could do it. I’m terribly sorry for the rush but I have a schedule to keep.” The grin gracing his features can only be described as sinister   
“Are you fencing it or replacing it?” R asks his mind already planning his process for both situations

“Well my little bird’s birthday is coming up and they admire Monet so very much. What would be better than an original?”

“I’ll make the copy but I want nothing to do with the heist”

“Deal, it’s always a pleasure doing business with you, the other forger we’ve been working with just doesn’t have the same…”

“Stupidity?” R supplies helpfully

“I was going to say passion but that works equally well.”


	4. Please get your nose set by a fully trained doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hurt R and sorry not sorry Deb

R leaves the cemetery and lets his feet take the lead wandering the streets of Paris. There are Edison bulbs strung across the way on the little side streets where during the day patrons sit on the patios of small restaurants and cafes. The night is still young; couples wander hand in hand and small rowdy groups looking to continue their fun in a bar or club. He smiles to himself thinking of all the parties that Courf had started in the small apartment he shared with Combeferre and Enjolras that had eventually spilled into the streets carrying them on scandalous adventures. They had taken Marius to his first drag show, when he took a body shots off Courf, and the ever-memorable night they got Enjolras to do a blowjob shot and R’s heart forgot how to beat. These memories sit heavy on his heart because now he cannot help but wonder if these friends would still accept him if they knew who he really was or the things he had done.

His feet carry him to a seedy bar down a back alley a sign worn with age and general lack of upkeep reads The Black Dog. The bar is dimly lit and the smell of stale cigarette smoke hangs in the air, he walks up to the bar and orders whiskey on the rocks and tucks himself into one of the back tables. When he first came to Paris he found this bar and sat there listening perfecting his accent and learning how to blend in this new country and city. It’s where he first met Eponine when he tried to break up a bar fight and she punched him in the face. Luckily, after almost breaking his nose, she introduced him to Patron Minette and he finally got his foot in the door of the Paris underground.  
His life before coming to Paris is not known to many, but it involved lots of hopping from place to place after his parents kicked him out at 13. Being a gay child to a very Christian family had not ended well for him. He’s part of the amis, he could share this story and get nothing but sympathy from his friends, but the part he’s hiding is much bigger than that. He’s swirling cheap brandy around in a dirty glass when a man joins him at his table; setting his glass of whiskey down before sliding onto the other wobbly chair. “Good evening Grantaire or should I call you Dionysus?” while his french is good the slight emphasis on different vowels makes R think his first language is a spanish sister to french. He’s wearing an expensive pair of pre distressed jeans that would make Montparnasse snear and a simple sweater that probably has a designer tag, which does not tell R much about him other than he’s willing to pay obnoxious amounts of money for clothes. Upon closer inspection he notices the dark blue paint sticking to the cuticles around his fingers and one of his sleeves has a slight discoloration from paint thinner.

“Maybe you should introduce yourself first since you already seem to know me.” R says trying to keep his voice level, but something about this guy makes him tense.

“Manuel Guerra” he smiles and holds out his hand, R just stares like Montparnasse had taught him to until the hand is retracted. “Look I’m just here to make sure you aren't helping the people looking for me and my employer. You know how much bad publicity can hurt people like us” he says swirling his whiskey again

“People like you, you mean” R cuts in “I folded my cards on this game long ago” he says curtly before moving to stand

“Sit down we’re not done yet” Manuel says grabbing his wrist and squeezing until the delicate bones grind together. R grimaces and sits back down rubbing his wrist after it is released. “Now you say you won’t help them but how do I know that’s true?” His voice is conversational as his eyes move around the bar.

“Guess you’ll just have to trust me” R says standing quickly, slipping past him and out the front door. He lets his long legs carry him quickly away from the bar the paranoia of being watched pounding in his veins. How had they known where to find him? Had they been following him all day? Then out of the blackness of an alley an arm grabs him and pulls him in as a fist connects with his face. His fists come up quickly in a boxers defense, but another person comes up behind him and lands two quick blows to his kidney. The one in front of him grabs him by the throat and pins him to the wall squeezing around his neck

“We’re done when I say we’re done” Manuel’s voice echoes in the darkness his words punctuated by another blow to R’s stomach making him try to double over in pain which just puts more pressure on his neck. “You try to sneak away again and I’ll make sure you remember. Now listen to me, if you flip and tell the FBI agent or his pet about me or my boss we will put you in a world of trouble”

“Fuck you and your boss” R spits out before taking another blow to his face

“Its like he enjoys getting hit” the other man finally speaks

“Oh I do”, helps me get off” another shot to the stomach

“Lets try another tactic then shall we?” Manuel says his voice cold and calculating “It would be such a shame if something happened at the next rally your little wannabe revolutionist threw.”

“You wouldn’t” R’s voice gives him away

“We wouldn’t even have to kill them all” he continues sensing the weakness he has found “Just cut off the head, but then again I’ve always enjoyed the chaos created by a good explosion” the pressure on R’s throat is steadily increasing and it’s getting harder to breathe and concentrate.

“I won't say anything, please, just don't hurt them” he manages as the world starts to spin

“Now there’s a good boy” Manuel says and lands a final blow to R’s head with what feels like a gun butt and lets him fall to the cold wet ground of the alley. The light of the distant street lamps fades to blackness as he lays his face on the cool concrete too weary to try to stand.  
***  
“R wake up!” the voice reverberates in his skull like a gong. He groans and tries to get away from the noise. “Grantaire it’s me, its Enjolras” this calms him and then he notices that he’s sitting against a wall and there’s warm hands on his face. He struggles to open his eyes one because of how very tired he is and the other is most likely swollen shut. He is rewarded by the view of an angel, a very stern looking angel maybe one of vengeance but beautiful nonetheless. 

“Apollo come to rescue me from the gutter?” he rasps and winces as the smile reopens the split in his lip

“What have you done to yourself?” Enjolras huffs his voice tight with annoyance 

“I’ve spent the night wrestling my demons” R says as he’s hit with a wave of dizziness and starts to tilt sideways. He notices that it is considerably lighter than when he had left the bar and guesses he slept in the alley.

“Can you stand? We need to get you to Ferre and Joly to get your head looked at.” Enj says trying to coax him to his feet. The world spins as he tries to stand and is brought to his knees by a wave of nausea. How fitting, he thinks to himself, on my knees in front of the great Apollo spewing forth my sins. He feels Enjolras’s hands rubbing comforting circles on his back as he shakes. “I’m going to call Courf to pick us up, ok?” R can only nod his head as his body slowly starts to remind him of every punch from the night before. His head throbs in time with his racing heart, his kidneys seems to be actively attempting to implode, and he can taste the blood from his split lip and he suspects that his nose may be broken. On the bright side that means Ferre might be able to set it straighter than the last time he broke it. He has zoned and only now notices Enjolras’s low words of comfort as he continues to trace circles on him back. He allows himself to bask in the moment before the threat from last night comes back to him, he’s gotten too close to this group and put them all in danger. He struggles to his feet and tries to walk away, stumbling and using the wall as support.

“I’m fine, just gotta sleep it off” he argues with Enj trying put distance between them

“Are you kidding me? You need stitches! You probably have a head injury!” Enj says grabbing the back of his shirt in an effort to keep him from leaving. The pull jerks him back and Enjolras has to react quickly or they both would have gone tumbling to the ground. Just then Courf pulls up at the end of the alley and R has no choice but to be shuffled into the back seat of his car followed closely by Enjolras. 

“What the hell happened to you?” Courf gasps, his doe eyes wide as he stares at him in the rearview mirror.

“Just got in a fight, no big deal” the movement of the car is making him feel sick again and he closes his eyes and ends up leaning against Enjolras because his body is a traitor. He drifts in and out only catches pieces of the conversation that Courf and Enj are having, really only noticing when Enj speaks because he can feel the vibrations of his words. The car mercifully stops but then R realizes they must have reached the apartment shared by Enjolras, Ferre and Courf; that means stairs a task which he knows he cannot handle in his current state.

“Well don’t you look pretty” the deep melodic voice of Bahorel makes R raise his head as two powerful arms wrap around him and awkwardly maneuver him out of the back seat and into a very undignified bridal carry up the three flights of stairs to their destination where he is gently deposited onto the couch. He has decided that if he doesn't open his eyes this isn't happening, a plan which works until Joly starts prodding at the wound on top of his head.

“Ferre do you have a suture kit here?” he asks getting an affirmative grunt from Ferre as he pulls on a pair of latex gloves and the smell of heavy antiseptic hits his nose. Joly’s hands are gentle but that doesn't stop it from hurting as he swabs over cuts and uses a tweezers to pull debris from the scrapes. “Sorry R but I don't have any anesthetic so unless you want to go to the hospital this next bit is going to hurt.” Joly warns him

“No hospitals just do it” R grits out. Hospitals mean questions and checking of identification documents and that’s a headache he doesn't need today. He can feel Ferre pulling his skin closed with his small precise sutures first high on his forehead and then around his lip which clues him in on the fact that what he thought was a spit lip reached further into his face. They really did a number on him. Then he feels Ferre’s large steady hands on his face as his thumbs prod at his nose and he tips R’s head back to look up it.  
“It’s broken, again” the man sighs “I’m going to reset it, you know how this goes keep your mouth shut so you dont bite your tongue this time”

“That was one time” R mumbles still feeling out of sorts and fuzzy

“On three ok?” Ferre tells him holding R’s face in his hands and lining his thumbs up with the sides of his nose. He takes a deep steadying breath “One……” then he quickly moves his thumbs shifting cartilage with a sickening crunching sound 

“MOTHER FUCKER!” R shouts as pain blooms on his face and a fresh flow of blood runs down his face “what the hell happened to 3?!” he stares at Ferre accusingly

“You would have moved if I waited till 3” he says shrugging and grabbing two cotton nose plugs and giving R a look when he flinches “You know i need to put these in or you’ll keep bleeding and it wont set. 

“I hate you” R says as he tries to sit still as Ferre shoves then unceremoniously up his poor abused nose.

“No you dont” Ferre says as he starts asking him questions to determine if he has a head injury. R has the standard concussion test memorized but unfortunately Ferre knows this so he changes the questions every time. “Yeah you got your brain scrambled” he says standing from where he had been kneeling in front of R 

“Is that the official diagnosis Dr. Dreamy?” R asks some of his usual sass returning

“Oh wait I don't think i got your nose quite right let me try again” Ferre says laughing as R reels back “You’re staying here until I think it’s safe from you to be home alone” then in a lower voice “we will be talking about this later” he says ominously

“He can sleep in my bed” Enj says causing R to jump because he had completely forgotten he was there. It must say alot about his mental fog because he allows himself to be propped up between then and lead down the hallway to Enjolras’s room. Ferre disappears for a moment after helping him sit down on the bed. “Would you be more comfortable without your jeans?” he asks standing awkwardly next to the bed fidgeting

“Yes, but too hard to get off” R says falling back on the bed and wincing as his kidneys protest. Ferre returns with a shirt and a scissors

“That shirt is toast R I’m just going to cut it off” he says as he removes the dirt and blood covered shirt and sucks in a breath as he sees the bruising starting to color R’s torso. He gently helps him into the soft cotton shirt 

“He wants his pants off too” enj whispers to Ferre a blush coloring his cheeks. Ferre rolls his eyes and helps R unbutton his pants and shimmy out of them all without having to stand up from the bed he is slowly melting into. 

“We should go” Ferre says pulling the curtains closed blanketing the room in a comforting darkness.


	5. I tried to write fluff but I don't believe in happiness

Enjolras stands in the kitchen of their small apartment staring at the kettle like it might give him answers. He thinks about the bruises that had stood out even on R’s dark skin, the blood matted in his hair and dried on his face; he can't help the involuntary shudder that passes through his body as he tries to image the actual fight. He’s seen R box competitively and he knows that R is not only strong but fast. Who could do that much damage to someone that can literally bench press Bahorel and still manage to make jokes the whole time.

“You’re giving yourself wrinkles” Courf says as he opens the fridge and pulls out a box of leftovers that is most definitely Ferre’s

“I’m thinking” he huffs turning to look at his friend

“About R no doubt” Courf shoots back eating cold Chinese takeout from the carton.

“You don't know that” he knows he sounds annoyed but it’s true 

“Oh but I can” he says using his chopsticks to gesture at Enjolras's face “That is the I’m brooding about R face. It’s different from the i’m pining after R face because it replaces the kicked puppy eyes with a very aging V between your eyebrows that still manages to make you look attractive. It’s rather unfair if you think about it” during this speech Ferre has wandered into the kitchen and is now digging through the fridge

“Have either of you seen my chow mein from last night?” he says head still in the fridge 

“No” Courf says his mouth currently stuffed with said chow mein

“Yes” enjolras says glaring at Courf so when Ferre looks at him his eyes follow the laser glare to his boyfriend who is now sitting on the counter.  
“Really babe?” he says taking a step towards him. Courf just smiles and takes another huge bite of leftovers

“Remember you love me” he says his feet swinging as Ferre moves closer

“Oh do I?” he says moving closer

“I seem to remember you saying that last night when I had your dick in my mouth” Courf grins wickedly as Enjolras chokes on his tea

“Thanks for the visual. Leaving. Now.” he says already walking out of the kitchen 

“You're welcome!” Courf calls after him his laughter evident. Enjolras decides that he should probably check on R to make sure he’s still breathing. He cracks the door and in the dimness of the room he can see the lump of blankets that contains R, and to his relief he can see the steady rise and fall that indicates his deep sleeping breaths. He softy pads over to pull the blankets back over his sleeping friend. The movement causes R to look up at him with wide innocent eyes, he frees his hand from the nest of blankets and catches Enjolras’s hand

“Stay with me?” His voice rasps slightly and his big brown eyes stare up at him.

“You should really get some rest” he whispers already Conceding and sitting down on the edge of his bed with his back resting against the wall. R’s lips twitch with a smile as he settles back into the pile of blankets his rough scared fingers still twinned with Enjolras’s slender pale ones.

“Tell me about your foreign policy class” he yawns turning his head towards Enjolras’s hip and rolling so their clasped hands rest on his leg “that should put me back to sleep” he mumbles as he settles back into a comfortable position that has somehow managed to encompassed Enjolras. He rolls his eyes but finds himself starting to outline the newest chapter his professor had assigned them about extradition policies. Soon R’s breathing is even and deep again but his hand is still grasped tightly. 

“You know we all worry about you?” Enjolras whispers to the sleeping man “it would tear us apart if anything happened to you. Who would get me hopelessly off track during meetings if you weren't there?” he lets his thumb trace along R’s hand as he feels the knot in his chest loosen, R is here, he’s ok, he’s not going anywhere.   
He doesn't remember drifting off but he slowly wakes in a warm dark cocoon and realizes that at some point he had been pulled into R’s chest. He should feel claustrophobic but instead he feels safe and surrounded by the strange mix of smells that is so uniquely R; Clay, paint, the horrendously expensive cologne that Montparnasse gets him for his birthday every year that smells so mouthwateringly good. R snuffles suddenly and Enj feels his muscles move under his hands as the bigger man pulls him impossibly closer and then his voice rumbles under Enjolras’s hands and ear

“I guess even the Gods need rest but you’re horrible at faking it, Apollo” 

“I’m not faking it” He protests “I’m just trying to wake up” his voice still muffled against R’s chest. They both tense at the gentle sound of a knock on the door

“Think if we’re quiet they’ll go away?” R says his words ruffle the curls on top of Enj’s head.

“No, it’s probably Courf and he’s ruthless” he says stiffening as he hears the door open, but he hears a soft gasp that could only come from one of their friends. His suspicions are confirmed when he feels the bed dip and a lithe lean body cuddle up behind him humming happily

“Can't resist a cuddle pile can you Jehan?” R chuckles 

“It's not just a cuddle pile its a beautifully poetic contradiction” they say before fluffing the blanket so it covers all three bodies that now occupy Enjolras’s queen bed.

“And what contraindications would those be?” Enjolras asks as Jehan’s legs tangle with his own

“The eternal optimist and cynic laying in the dark together!” Jehan giggles

“so the lion laid down with the lamb and there was peace on earth” R says theatrically waving his arm to complete the gesture. This sends Jehan into another fit of giggles and makes Enj scoff. “Why are you here? Not that I dislike seeing my favorite poet after a head injury” R says reaching over Enjolras to awkwardly pat Jehan's head

“Montparnasse heard what happened and asked me to check on you” Enjolras feels like he has been forgotten as his two friends talk. He’s brought back by Jehan’s next question, “do you have a name for him R?”

“It’s not a big deal” he says trying to sit up

“Yes it is” they say “I haven’t seen him this upset since what happened to Babet last year” Enjolras hears R draw in a quick breath.

“I’ll talk to him later. I promise” he sighs. Enjolras looks up to catch the end of a conversation that Jehan and R seem to be having with just their eyes. A flare of anger rips through him and he sits up suddenly and stalks out of his room, sitting with a exaggerated huff on the couch. Ferre looks up from his book quirking his brow

“What did R do this time?” his voice is calm as he turns a page

“He’s keeping secrets” Enj knows he sounds petty but it hurts. He remembers the feeling of dread that ran through him when he had seen R laying bleeding in that alley, how he had sent a prayer up to anyone listening as he ran over to his friend. 

“All of us have secrets” Ferre says looking up from his book

“Not like this!” he’s shouting now “First the FBI shows up, then he find him beaten in an alley and then Jehan comes asking him questions for Montparnasse! I’m sorry for wanting to know what the hell is going on! He could be putting us all in danger!!” he feels himself deflating a bit as he thinks to himself What if we don't find him in time next time? He’s drawn from those dark thoughts by a cough, R is standing in the hallway 

“You’ve got a point Apollo” his voice is tight and his shoulders droop as he walks towards the front door “I can't take the chance of any of you getting hurt”

“Grantaire, no” Jehan says walking down the hallway their hand outstretched

“No” he says pulling away from the poet “He’s right I’m putting you all in danger staying here” he’s unsteady on his feet but walks out the door with purpose. Enjolras remains on the couch stubbornness unwilling to let him move.   
********  
R catches a cab outside and tries to keep his breathing even as it speeds towards his apartment. You knew holding him in your arms was a mistake, those few sweet and comfortable moments were never yours to take. He berates himself to try to impede the tears escaping his eyes as he pictures the anger that had burned on the face of his Apollo. He stumbles up the stairs and starts packing boxes. He grabs a duffle bag and the backpack loaded with his escape tools and a few sentimental trinkets. He sends a quick text to Montparnasse “Compromised headed to the farm” after he knows the message is sent he smashes the phone into the counter and winces at the crunch of glass and plastic. It's time to run away, the only thing he's ever been any good at.


End file.
